


Whoops

by corelton



Category: Motorcity
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corelton/pseuds/corelton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike and Chuck talk and Mike makes a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whoops

**Author's Note:**

> this is old and i meant for it to be two parts but i never wrote the secon d part so this is it

It had taken him a while, but Mike had managed to decode the meaning behind each of his co-pilot’s screams-- using the term “co-pilot” lightly, of course. It probably would be more accurate to label Chuck his passenger, but the passive title makes him sound less important than Mike finds him to be.

For example, a high pitched whiny, “Mikeeeeey,” is “Pull over at that pitstop, because I forgot to go before we left and my bladder is about to burst” (not that pulling over at such a place ever works. The shy bladder thing kind of nips that in the bud and takes too long for the way Chuck ambles back to the car still on square one) but if the pitch is lower, it becomes “Don’t tell people about my shy bladder!” Then there’s the sharp “Mikey!” that means “Oh my god, you’re wearing my underwear again!” and the drawn out “Miiiiiikey!” that translates to, “Step off the gas, Antonio’s will still be there if you go under 200 miles per hour.” “Muh-ikey!” is actually “I swear to the whole of Romanthia, if you don’t stop stepping on the hem of my cloak I spent an hour patching up, they’ll change your title to the Scowling Dragon.” He also knows the difference between each of the variations of “AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!” that come out of Chuck’s mouth, but those are a little harder to pin down in writing. Either way, if a sound issues from Mutt‘s passenger seat, Mike Chilton is the go to guy for translation.

Tonight’s screech of choice is the often heard and most enjoyed, “Wow, I thought we were done for, but we made it. We totally made it.” This scream is easily Mike’s favorite. The rawness of his throat from previous screaming gives a nice contrast of tone to the way Chuck babbles excitedly, rush of adrenaline at the thrill of being safe pushing his voice from terrified to chipper. Plus, it means there will be some awesome making out once Mike parks somewhere. That’s definitely what makes that series of shrieks his favorite. Nothing wrong with liking to know you’re going to be getting some hot lip-to-lip action later.

It starts simple and sweet. Mike pulls his green lady into the garage under Mutt Dogs and kills the engine. The light, unimportant conversation between the two boys dies out as they sit in a momentary silence, both internally indulging in their own thoughts. Mike is the first to move-- which, really, is less a result of his brash nature and more of the fact that Chuck wears several seatbelts where Mike is assured of his safety with a single security strap-- leaning across the excessively complicated gear shift to press his lips lightly against the strands of shaggy blonde hair covering his boyfriend’s temple. 

Chuck’s appreciative noise of approval draws Mike in for another kiss, this time aiming for his cheek but catching lips as his head is turned. The kiss is little more than a gentle peck but as soon as they break apart, the brunette shifts in the driver’s seat, perching on his knees. There, that makes leaning forward to cup a hand over his freckled cheek so much more comfortable. A few more saccharine kisses have Mike kneeing his way over the gear shift, thighs resting on either side of Chuck’s lap and both hands resting on each of his cheeks, cupping and caressing his face. Pale hands settle on either of his hips, helping Mike keep his balance in the cramped space of Mutt’s passenger seat-- frankly, it hadn’t been built to hold two lanky teenage boys, but they make due with what they have and granted, it’s more comfortable than trying to cram together in the driver’s side, which usually ends in embarrassing and totally mood killing blasts of the car’s horn.

Mike breaks the kiss to laugh a little as he remembers the first time Chuck’s clothed behind had slammed on the horn. He had jumped up so fast that their faces had collided, leaving them both with dibbly, bloody noses. Despite the gross feeling of thick blood trickling down his right nostril, Mike regards the moment fondly, the way he had laughed and Chuck had gone red and babbled a thousand apologies in this squeaky voice that always amuses him. He had leaned forward and gently kissed the bridge of his new-at-the-time-boyfriend’s sore nose and the pair of them had silently agreed to head back to Mutt Dogs and get their faces patched up. 

An impatient knee nudges at the side of his calf and Mike’s mind returns from its affectionate reverie. Right, there’s a very eager blonde under him, probably wondering why he’s laughing instead of kissing. Mike gives him an apologetic nip at his bottom lip, playful and sweet. Chuck smiles and kisses him back, glad to be back on track. One hand slides its way up Mike’s usual white shirt and the blonde’s teeth catch his boyfriend’s top lip, a much more charged than the first little bite. Mike shifts from his position straddling Chuck’s lap, trying to find a comfortable way around the cramped passenger’s seat, but he must be moving a little too close to the seatbelt, because Chuck’s hand takes an unprecedented trip south that leaves the usually self-assured leader of the Burners sputtering and going red.

“I think we’re living a little too fast and a little too free here,” he spits the words out, embarrassed by his hesitant and awkward reaction. He’s relieved when Chuck’s hand returns to his hip, but he’s also disappointed in himself. He thunks his head down on one of his boyfriend’s broad shoulders and mutters a feeble, “Sorry.” It’s Chuck’s turn to laugh. “It’s okay, Mikey.” His lips find a patch of soft brown hair to kiss, avoiding the silly little rooster hairs Mike’s cowlick left him with. One time, he had kissed him on the top of the head and ended up too close to the tricky hairs. One slipped up his nose and tickled him to the point of sneezing, leaving an unpleasant spray across the entire top of Mike’s head. “It’s cute.”

Mike’s not entirely sure how Chuck can find his split-second sputtering of the Burner motto, altered to suit his purposes cute, but he can roll with it. He shifts himself again, now curled up in Chuck’s lap, head rested on his shoulder and knees angled between lanky legs. Long skinny arms wrap themselves tight around him and one of his hands finds its way to Chuck’s other shoulder. Their breathing slows, the steady rising of the chest he lays against matching his own and Mike lets his eyes slip shut. Moments like these are rare and Mike revels in them. In the fast paced, high adrenaline lifestyle all the Burners lead, it’s tough to catch a moment to just lay together in silence, listening to the thudding of Chuck’s heart, rocking to the rhythm of his lungs, so cozy and comforted he could fall asleep. Sometimes he even wishes they could shed their titles and mesh along the other common motor citizens. 

The city needs them, though. He knows that and Chuck knows it. So they enjoy these scattered moments to the fullest. Each quiet second is sacred to them, they use each moment they have to themselves to lay so close Mike could swear they were one person. It’s cheesy, almost as bad as Texas’ one-liners, but that’s how he feels. They move and breathe in sync, they don’t have to speak to know how the other is feeling. They meld into one being for just a little while. Mike’s favorite moments always follow his favorite screams. The pair of them lay tangled together, wrapped around each other, for a good stretch of time. Chuck is the first to break the silence, nudging Mike to make sure he’s awake. Mike tilts his head up to get a skewed glance at his freckled face, waiting for whatever it was that was so important that the blonde felt the need to break their quiet moment.

“I love you.”

The three unexpected words hit Mike’s ears and for the second time that night, his rarely seen panic reflex kicks in. “I love Mutt!”

Before he can even process what he’s said or the fact that he’s being moved, Mike finds his butt planted on the dirt outside of Mutt’s door. He marvels at how fast Chuck can unbuckle the several belts that had been holding him in place and how fluidly and quickly those long legs carry him away in his angry huff.

Mike tries to stammer something out, but he’s still processing his blunder and how quickly Chuck had moved to get away from him. He stands up shakily, brushing off his bruised behind easier than he can brush off his bruised pride. 

“Damn it.” He makes a mental note to add a dollar to his swear jar once he makes it back to the headquarters.


End file.
